Annie

I pulled into the visitors’ parking lot at Garden Pointe and hurried inside. Annie, along with five other listless souls restrained in their wheelchairs, sat lined up near the dining room door, hands resting on their laps. I thought, they are like birds with folded wings, resting after a long migration. Soon the dining room doors would swing open and aides would roll them to their appointed spots to face plates of colorless food, the highlight of their day.

As I walked along, Annie caught my hand and said, “Would you sing Jesus Loves Me?”

I had come to spend lunch time with my mother and felt a little rushed but I took Annie’s hand and sang, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”

Annie, a tiny wren of a woman, sang along, eyes closed. “My mother used to sing that song to me,” she said. Though Annie no longer knew her own name, that old Sunday School song lingered in her memory. “She used to sew school clothes for me so I would look pretty.”

I smiled. “I’ll bet you did look pretty.”

She smiled back and said, “Will you take me home? I want to see my mother.”

“I can’t do that, Annie.”

“Well then, would you call my father and tell him to come get me? Tell him I’m tired and I want to come home.”

“I can do that for you,” I said. Fighting back tears, I held Annie’s hand, looked up and prayed, “Heavenly Father, please come and get Annie. She’s homesick.”